


the place of this desire

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (Obviously), Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tsukishima Kei is not in love. (The first flowers are small, blue, and bitter.)





	the place of this desire

**Author's Note:**

> anon for the moment because attaching a wip to my name makes me nervous that it's going to languish forever and never be finished OTL. fingers crossed that doesn't happen!

Tsukishima got sick in November — when the air was just starting to edge away from crisp and into bitterly cold. It was the season of runny noses and scratchy throats; people were cycling through health and debilitating illness as regularly as the sun rose and set. Catching a cough, then, was typical — expected even.

At first, the discomfort in his throat started off small: a tickle that wouldn’t fade, a slightly out of place rawness. It was an annoyance, but one that he easily ignored, like the murmur of a TV on in another room. He went to class, stood in the too-long lunch line with Yamaguchi, and didn’t really pay it much attention except to clear his throat once or twice. 

As the day went on, though, the tickle turned into an itch, and a thickness rose in his throat that made it hard to breathe. Practice was hell because he had to stop and clear his throat every few minutes. Nishinoya and Tanaka pounced on him every time he so much as twitched in the wrong direction. By the time practice ended, he was mildly bruised from all the slaps to his back and highly irritated at everything and everybody in general.

During clean-up, the Coach Ukai and Takeda sensei pulled him aside, worried furrows creasing their brows, and Tsukishima had to spend longer than he would have liked convincing them that he was alright. By the time that everything had finally been put away, and he had changed back into his uniform, Tsukishima was heavy with fatigue. 

Finally free of both upperclassmen accostment and adult concern, he met up with Yamaguchi outside the gym to start their walk home, bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting the nearby clouds in a bright, fiery glow. 

Kageyama and Hinata were walking ahead of them, having one last argument for the day before they would have to part ways. They were too loud, as always. The day’s argument was sure to be on some inanity that Tsukishima probably didn’t understand and surely couldn’t care less about. The conversation between the two was punctuated by Hinata’s signature indecipherable sound effects. Tsukishima tracked them lazily, with half an ear on whatever conversation Yamaguchi was trying to drag him into.

The last of the late afternoon sunlight caught on Kageyama’s hair, brown highlights against the usual stark black. His brows were turned down, and a scowl was firmly affixed on his face, as always. Idly, defenses worn down by a long and busy day, Tsukishima allowed himself to watch the setter a little more closely than he usually would.

Kageyama could be expressive, but only in specific ways. His temper was quickly triggered and sometimes explosive, and on the court, his eyes always shone with a sort of predatory and relentless tenacity. Tsukishima couldn’t remember if he had actually ever seen Kageyama smile before, though. A real smile, not the rigid caricature that he sometimes attempted in a misguided effort to channel Suga-san. An honest smile, instead of a small, pleased nod or a satisfied smirk. 

Attention fixed on Kageyama’s mouth — twisted in irritation before falling open to rebut against whatever Hinata had said — he barely noticed that the itch in his throat had returned until it tipped over from merely irritating to unbearable. Unable to ignore the feeling any longer, Tsukishima brought his hand up to his mouth and coughed to try and ease the itch.

It was one of those hard coughs, a cough that shook your body and left you slightly winded after because of its strength. When he pulled his hand away, he could feel something wet clinging to his palm.

Tsukishima grimaced. It was just his luck to be hacking up a lung. Apparently their last few practice matches had run him dry and then some. Not sure if he wanted to know what had come out, he nevertheless pushed past his discomfort and chanced a glance down.

He froze, hand still curled close to his mouth. For a moment, he wasn’t even quite sure what was seeing, but the longer he looked and the more he blinked in a futile attempt to clear his vision, the objects clinging to skin continued to linger. 

There were petals in the palm of his hand, small and a pale, barely there blue. The touch of wet flowers against his skin stayed and grew colder in the late autumn air with every passing second. On the back of his tongue, Tsukishima could taste the bare hint of floral bitterness.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi called, pulling him out of his stunned reverie. “You okay? That cough sounded kind of bad.” Yamaguchi was already at least a dozen feet ahead of him, a worried frown pulling his mouth down. Kageyama and Hinata were nowhere to be seen. 

The petals were still there, damp against the center of his palm. Tsukishima forced his hand away from his mouth with a too-quick jerk.

“I'm fine,” he said, after a belated pause, hoping he didn’t sound as strangled as he thought. He cleared his throat roughly and could feel something – petals – move as he tried to swallow. “I think I’m catching a cold.”

“Take some medicine tonight,” Yamaguchi said, peering at Tsukishima with concern. “You wouldn’t want to get even worse!” 

_Too late_ , Tsukishima thought, already morbidly imagining a proliferation of petals choking him out in the middle of the night, but he nodded anyway. For the rest of the walk home, he let Yamaguchi chatter away at him and carefully kept his mind as blank as he could manage.


End file.
